


First Contact

by tomoewantsdolls



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: (at least Jim is), (don't sue me but it's a weakness of mine), Alternate Universe, Fake Science, Long-Haired Spock (Star Trek), M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Violence, Vulcan Mind Melds, injuries, stranded on an alien planet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomoewantsdolls/pseuds/tomoewantsdolls
Summary: Decades after an exploratory mission went awry for reasons unknown, a new ship called Enterprise reaches the Eridani solar system looking for answers and new worlds to colonize. Lieutenant Jim Kirk's shuttle crashes on the planet while gathering scientific data and finds the planet is not as empty as it had seemed.S'chn T'gai Spock makes a startling discovery while in exile that may make sense of his past and his future.AU where first contact never took place as depicted in canon.Written for the Star Trek Valentine's Bang 2021
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47
Collections: Star Trek Valentine's Bang 2021





	1. Collision

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the mods for all the job put behind this fest!
> 
> Thanks to PraireDawn for working as my beta, and for all the fantastic sugestions! 
> 
> Thanks to Himbo-Kirk for the wonderful art for this fic! (if this was a recorded message I would be sCrEAmiNg, that's how excited I'm about it!). Now it's embedded in the first chapter!
> 
> Any remaining mistake is my fault and mine alone.

The shuttlecraft is brand new. It was commissioned for the rebuilding of the Enterprise when the specifics of the long term mission were fully developed, so it couldn't be better equipped. After the mothership, it was becoming Jim's favorite.

"Enterprise, Galileo here. We’re entering the planned orbit in five, four, three, two... Thrusters off, changing dampeners to auto. All readings blinking in happy green."

He hears a chuckle over the comm. "Colours can't be happy you know?" Uhura’s voice tone comes more teasing than annoyed. After a difficult start, Jim believes he is starting to grow on her. Maybe not unconditional acceptance yet, but definitely fond exasperation.

"They seem happy to me." Jim hears Gary huff from the seat at his right. 

"You're impossible. Okay, Galileo, all sensors working correctly. Enterprise ready to depart at Captain orders.” A pause. “Good luck, Kirk.”

“Luck is my middle name.”

“Okay kid,” Pike's voice fills the cabin. “We’ll pick you up in seven days. Behave. And with that I mean don’t break my shuttle, understood?”

“Loud and clear, sir.”

Jim looks out the front visor to see the ship depart. A mix of excitement and unease fills him. Seven days isn't much, only a week, but for him it’ll be the longest time to date spent in the close space of the shuttlecraft. He isn’t claustrophobic, and it’s not the first recognosainse duty he got since the start of the exploratory mission either, but it is undoubtedly the most important. The second planet on the 40 Eridani A system is promising. Scorching hot in the middle of the day, but habitable.

“Do you think the planet has a name?” Jim asks.

“Why?” Gary asks back, half smiling. “Do you have a name in mind?”

“I can come up with one.” 

“Oh, please, spare me the suffering.”

“Hey! I can,” Jim protests.

“Yeah, like you named that poor girl’s pet.”

“I didn’t know it was the fifth fish she bought in a month.”

“Hence why William Fitzpatrick the fifth was a terrible idea.”

“Her cat was a terror.”

“Did you still kiss her?”

“Uh-huh.” Jim fights a smile, unsuccessful.

“ _You_ are the terror.”

“You didn’t complain when I kissed _you_.”

Gary snorts. “I maintain my statement.” He checks the readings before turning to Jim. “Okay, wanna do the first shift?.”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Perfect, I’m knackered,” Gary says while stretching out his arms and cracking his neck.

“You couldn’t sleep either.”

“Hell, no. Nerves were eating me alive.”

“It’s exciting, right?” Jim grins, unable to contain his giddiness. “Do you think they’ll let us land before they pick us up?”

“That will depend on the readings we got. So far so good.” Gary shrugs. “Okay Jimbo, I’m going to sleep. The conn is yours.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Gary lowers the lights at the back of the shuttle and settles for the night in the drop down bed. Jim sighs. He really hopes to have the opportunity to land.

The first two days are uneventful. Tedious even: gathering data and processing them, reporting daily to the Enterprise, eat, sleep, rinse and repeat. Jim is out of his mind already. When they connect with the Enterprise for the scheduled report, he practically begs Captain Pike to let them land and explore the planet. 

"We have to be sure it's safe down there, kid."

"The planet is practically a wasteland." Jim protests, and almost as an afterthought he adds, "Sir."

Gary taps furiously on his PADD and shows the text to Jim: _There's evidence of life._

Jim waves his hand dismissively. They haven't got anything conclusive. Yet. The atmosphere is dense and interfering with their instruments. 

"Stay in orbit, that's an order."

Jim huffs but concedes defeat. "Yes, sir." The transmission is over, but Jim is far from settled. 

Jim purses his lips and fumes silently. For the moment. Over their shared dinner (breakfast for Gary) Jim complaints extensively. 

"Stop whining, Jimbo. There's no use."

"Listen, I can reprogram the sensors, reorient them and compensate for the distortion…" Gary frowns, but Jim insists, leaning over the table and almost jabing his index finger on Gary’s chest. “With that we could convince Pike. It could save us days of research!” His hands flail wildly now. “If the planet is not worthy, we could move on to the next solar system by the end of the month. But I tell you, it’s the first planet we’ve found with perfect habitable conditions,” Jim scrunches his nose. Well, perfect is maybe a stretch, “almost.” He corrects himself. “And, you know, it’s probably one of the planets the USS Antares stopped by before disappearing. maybe we could find some answers here.”

"Okay, _fine_ , you do that. Tomorrow. After some sleep."

"I won't sleep if I don't do that _now_."

"Geez, why did I have to be paired with you? You're a pain in the ass."

Jim smiles brightly, "I'll go and put on the suit."

Outside the shuttlecraft it's blessedly quiet. It was what Jim needed. A change in routine. Less constricting. Ironic considering the tight EV suit he is wearing.

“Okay, Gary, I’ve rewired the sensor for the bio-scanner, the signal should be clearer.”

“Copy that, I’ll check the readings,” Gary says. Jim heard some rustling over the intercom. “Uhm, it seems, er… Jim, could you- could you check the electromagnetic sensor?”

“Is everything okay?” Jim checks the sensor on the panel. It seems it works just fine.

“Uhm, I-I don’t know. Maybe you should see this.”

Jim pauses. Maybe it’s Gary’s tone, maybe it’s something else; a gut feeling, a visceral fear that makes him react quickly. Or as quickly as zero gravity lets him. Once inside, he doesn’t pause to change out of the EV suit. In the short period between his conversation with Gary and coming inside, readings became more and more worrisome and the panels are now full of blinking red lights. 

“What is happening?” Gary’s voice trembles. 

Jim is grateful that at least Gary is confident enough in his habilites to not question if Jim had somehow messed with the sensors. Jim didn't, he is certain of it, but what everything points to is likely to be a mess. 

"Strap you on, he commanded, there's going to be some turbulence."

"What-?"

A new set of alarms goes off, and Jim's fingers fly over the console, trying to calculate the best angle to position the shuttle against the surge of radiation coming from the planetary system star- a devious bastard capable of blasting them into oblivion. "Okay Gary, thrusters on at my orders, 45 degrees on my right, 12.5 down." 

"That's-that's gonna put us at an entrance angle towards the planet atmosphere."

"That's the idea. I don't want to be shattered to pieces or bounce away out of control. It's gonna hit us hard." The shuttle starts to tremble. "Okay, hit it."

"Deviation of 0.9 percent."

"Compensating."

"Deviation of 0.7 percent. It’s not getting in position fast enough, Jim.”

“We’ll make it. Hold on.” The shuttle walls are creaking and squeaking loudly. Jim hates that metallic sound, it makes his hair stand on ends. “Hold on, baby,” he mutters, looking at the joints and junctures of the shuttle. It appears fragile to his eyes. He hopes the hull of the Galileo stays in one piece.

“Deviation of 0.3 percent.”

“This will have to do. Prepare to enter the atmosphere in three, two, one-”

The sudden lurch forward is unexpectedly strong, violent enough to shake them off their seats. Jim kept his balance at the last moment but Gary, not having his belt fastened, hits his head on the control panel. Jim glances at him and frowns at the blood dripping from his eyebrow.

“You ok?” Jim asks.

“Yeah, just- bit dizzy.”

“I need you with me.” Jim holds his gaze, trying to appear more confident than he feels. The constant tremble of every piece and panel doesn’t help. “Let’s land this beast gracefully, I don’t want to have Pike kicking my dead ass for ruining his precious shuttle.” He says as he straps himself to the seat. 

Jim smiles when Gary chuckles, he is happy to have lightened the mood, but deep down he has a bad feeling about this.

In the end, everything happens too fast. Maybe it’s the shock, maybe it’s the hit in the head. But he will only remember the drops of sweat rolling down his spine, the planet surface coming too fast into view… and then blackness. 

\---

Life in The Forge is a constant challenge. He did not expect to come back years after his kahs'wan, but life in Shikahr had become a hardship. 

It defies all logic, but as his father told him before parting, their society had left the path of logic long before the elders had forced the exile of the first discrepant voices. 

The teachings of Surak are twisted and distorted, and he no longer recognizes himself in them. 

His differences run deeper, of course. There is no other Vulcan that shares his heritage, as he is an impossibility, a mixture of two worlds that found each other by chance. 

By destiny, his mother would say. It is not a logical concept, but his mother was not a logical being. She was not Vulcan.

She was stubborn, and brave, and had loved him unconditionally. And she had loved his father, defying an entire world, alien to her, without hesitation. 

She made her own choices and, even when the consequences were… dire, she had looked him in the eye and had assured Spock that she would make them again. One by one. 

Spock looks up at the sky, trying to regain control of his emotions. Time has passed, he is no longer a child, but he still finds difficult understanding the reasoning behind her words.

The sun is setting, he needs to go back to the refuge before the drop in temperature will become uncomfortable and the le-matya will be out hunting. He will set a small fire though, and stay at the entrance for a while. The sky is clear for the first time in weeks, and the stars will be visible. 

Observing the stars is the only indulgence he allows himself, beside revisiting the memories of his mother. He knows every constellation, every old name that the high council has tried to erase from their collective minds. Because there is no logic in trying to label that that has no effect in their lives, they said. For Spock, it was like a slap on the face, because his own existence was proof that Vulcan was not as isolated as their elders want them to be, nor that much of an exception in the galaxy.

For people like his brother Sybok, ignoring the existence of another sentient species in their quadrant was an act of utmost stupidity. Spock allows himself a small smile at the memory of the scandalised looks on the Council members’ faces when Sybok voiced this thought. 

The smile wanes rapidly, though. Soon after that, his brother was forced to abandon Shikahir to never return. After his mother's death, he had become one of Spock’s greatest pillars, and then, unexpectedly, he was gone too. 

His parting gift was a detailed stellar map that Spock devoted to memory, just in case someone would find it and destroy it. So, on this rare clear night, when he sits in front of the fire and looks up at the starry sky, a bright spot stands out like a sore thumb, out of place and without a name.

The first thoughts are ones of confusion, and he stares for a long time, mouth agape and excitement slowly building, as he starts to formulate an hypothesis.

Spock stays at the refuge’s entrance until its orbit leaves it outside his view, not before he writes down every datum and makes all the mental calculations he can - angle, relative velocity, height… By the time he goes inside he has to meditate to regain enough control before he attempts to sleep. All his thoughts come again and again to the conclusion that the bright spot in the sky is an object orbiting the planet.

The next day there is dust floating in the air, so near dawn, by the time the calculated orbit would bring the object into sight again, he looks at the sky feeling a bit… impatient would be an appropriate term, wondering if the object would be visible. 

He purposely relaxes his posture. He is not anxious. He is not, he is merely curious. 

Spock considers his self assessment as he feels his heart race on his side. 

He exhales minutely when the bright light appears on the horizon: it is still there, if half hidden by the haze. 

“Fascinating,” he mutters. It is a pity that he had not any equipment in the refuge that he could use to observe and study the object in detail. He shakes his head a fraction, trying to dispel the feeling. It is pointless to let that sentiment fester as he has more important things to do. 

He gathers his satchel and his weapon, and starts his morning checking the traps in the perimeter of the refuge. After that, he plans to head east, in search of a new spring. The heat will only rise as the dry season is reaching its peak, and the one he has been using was starting to dwindle. He could take advantage of the journey and collect some medicinal plants too, those always are useful in the unpredictable dessert. 

Before the sun reaches its zenith, a flash catches his attention. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to understand what he is seeing: an object is falling from the sky, incandescent in the daylight; it is not a meteor, nor any cosmic object that could disintegrate before touching Vulcan soil. It is falling, yes, but now and again the trajectory changes, as if something -or someone- is forcing it to go in a determined direction. 

Spock's heart starts to beat faster and he does not try to control it. It is the object he studied last night, he is sure of it. It could be an escape pod, or a small ship. It could be nothing important, or it could give him some answers. 

He tilts his head. He had not been aware of how much he craved answers. 

Spock does some calculations. If the being controlling the artifact is able to reduce its speed, there is a chance of survival. And if Spock walks the rest of the day and all night he can reach the point of impact by mid morning. 

It could be dangerous...

But he needs to know.

\---

Jim shields his eyes to the early morning sun. It is damn bright. And the air, too thin. And the gravity, too high.

“Fuck me.” 

His limbs feel heavy, but not as much as his heart. He woke up feeling confused and battered, but it was nothing compared with discovering Gary’s lifeless body under the control console. 

Jim lifts his head and closes his eyes, trying to contain the overwhelming urge of spilling his guts right there and then. 

He doesn’t try to hold up the tears, though. That is a lost cause. He feels them track down his cheeks and tries to come to terms with what he has to do. He inhales shakily and tries to work around the lump in his throat, running the Fleet protocoles in his head, as a way to distract himself or find comfort in the guidelines and contingency plans laid out from others older and wiser than him. But all the standard procedures are useless. All the training is useless. Nothing prepares you for this.

Jim is not that naive to think that death was not a possibility in their mission. Far from it. But being face to face with reality is different. Jim can’t help but feel unprepared for it and undeserving of his luck.

It’s Gary, for fuck’s sake.

He blinks his tears away and clenches his hand against the shovel handle. It’s a poor excuse of a shovel, really, a tool for an explorer. It was never intended to dig a grave. But it’ll have to do.

He rubs his eyes with his free hand, clearing them from the rest of the moisture and already crystallized tears on his skin, and selects a place to start digging. The dry soil is hard and compact, and he feels every shove in each fiber of his body, but he doesn’t relent. He’s stubborn after all. But stubbornness can drive him so far, though, and soon his muscles ache and his head swim with the lack of enough oxygen. 

He doesn’t want to stop, because that means thinking, and thinking leads to the image of his friend’s body in an improvised shroud. His heart just can’t take it.

So he digs and digs and focuses on the task at hand as if nothing else is real. Until his arms burn and he has to admit that it’s enough.

His sore muscles almost give in when he picks the body up, heavier than it should be. He sets his jaw, trying to ignore the pain, trying to think of anything but who this body belongs to.

His legs wobble. He drops Gary with less care than he intended and bangs his knee for good measure. He can’t help but cry again when he pushes the last loose soil with bloody hands. It’s real. It’s final. It’s done.

He’s utterly exhausted. And emotionally drained, his grief and his guilt mixed in a horrible knot in his throat.

He stays in the ground with his hands on his lap, staring but not seeing, his mind numb like his bruised fingers. Only when the sun rises and the heat starts to emanate from the overheated metal hull of the shuttle, he’s finally able to snap out of it and start to think on how to survive. That’s what half of his training was for.

And Gary wouldn’t forgive him if he doesn’t fight his way off this rock.

Water should be his first priority.Half of the shuttle’s instruments are useless, and after a swift check, the water purification cell is one of those wrecked for good. Life support is another, so looking for shelter would be next on the list.

After that, he will worry about contacting the ship. The emergency beacon is on, but if the problems with the readings they had in orbit was indicative of something, the signal won’t reach far, most probably. 

Jim exhales shakily. One problem at a time. First, water.

He starts walking towards what seems like a mass of vegetation -where there’s plants, there’s water, right?- with a couple of canteens and some snacks in hand. It isn’t far, but his already exerted; and the excess of pull on his body, and the low oxygen concentration in the planet’s atmosphere, take a toll on him soon after he starts walking.

But he keeps going forward… and the distant oasis seems still far away. 

A sharp fear spikes in his veins. What if he is mistaken and there isn’t water on the near surface of the planet? What if the rules of life on earth don't apply here and it’s all a mirage, an illusion in his oxygen deprived brain -would he die here, too?. But the readings said there was life here, he is sure of it. And those spiky things over there seem like plants to Jim... 

He looks down at the dirt in his boots and frowns when a red drop falls on them.

It is his blood.

He hadn’t noticed he was injured. Jim lifts his hand to eye level and he’s surprised to see a gash on his wrist. He pokes at the tender skin around the wound and freezes when he senses some movement on the corner of his eye. He holds his breath and strains his ears. Maybe he is hallucinating. Maybe he has lost it already.

Maybe there is an alien predator stalking him in the shadow of that rock behind him. 

Jim turns slowly, just in case a sudden move would trigger an attack. Although he fears that his thudding heart is loud enough to do the trick anyway. It would be just his luck: to crash in the only planet, on all the systems they have studied so far, to have life developed enough to put him at the end of the food chain.

He hears it before seeing it: a pebble falling, and then the subtle scratch of a paw on the ground; a massive haired body crouched before jumping appears before Jim’s widened eyes. 

“Holy sh-!”

The huge cougar-like creature jumps on him.He tenses,expecting the pain of claws tearing his skin, but before his eyes a blunt mace hits the skull of the creature with a sickening sound, stunning it so Jim has time to duck and roll out of harm's way.

Jim gapes at the figure fighting the beast. It looks humanoid, even as the clothes and the long hair obscure its features. Jim follows the figure as it moves fast, brandishing a heavy weapon that no human could hold with that lithe body. 

On the opposite side of the club that hit the animal, there is a sharp blade. Very sharp, as the barest of contact with the beast’s fur cuts the coarse hairs.

The warrior fights fiercely, but the beast is enraged at being deprived of its breakfast and Jim fears that it will gain momentum as the warrior tires. He doesn’t think twice -he certainly should have- but he picks up a couple of heavy stones and aims at the beast’s head. The first hits it in the flank and is barely noticed, but the second one hits between its ear and its eye. The beast growls and turns towards him, giving his ally in the fight time enough to switch the grasp on their weapon and cut the beast's throat. The beast falls heavily in front of Jim with a thud, leaving a strange stench in the air.

Before he can fully process what happened, the warrior turns and talks to him in a foreign language. Jim is surprised to note that if it weren't for his pointed ears and slanted eyebrows, the warrior could have easily passed for a human. A barely restrained, pissed human. One that he probably shouldn't piss off further, but Jim has always been doomed by his big mouth. 

"Hey, it helped, didn't it?" He says, standing at his full height and looking at the stranger in the eye. 

Oddly enough, the stranger seems taken aback by Jim's defiance, or at least that is what Jim thinks before feeling his body give in as the adrenalin rush fades and exhaustion drains the rest of his energy. 

"Shit," Jim mutters before he falls to the ground, unconscious. 

\---

Spock arrives at the crash site at the estimated hour. At first, he is exhilarated. He was right. The object is a small ship. Spock frowns. It is too small for long range travel. Would this be a part of a large vessel? 

It is damaged, but he can distinguish some inscriptions on the hull. He inspects the exterior, and is surprised to see an opening on one side. His excitement increases a notch, and even when he tries to tone it down, the fact is evidence that the crew has survived. 

He corrects himself at the sight of recently moved soil: at least _one_ of the crew of the shuttle has survived. The notion that the sentient being, stranded on a foreign planet, in a hostile environment, prioritized their respect for a lost comrade over their own survival baffled him. Spock raises his eyebrows. It is not the logical course of action, but he can respect that. 

He inspects the area now with caution. If the being has a strong bond with his equals he could be defensive, or protective of their remains. He has seen that behavior in some wild species in the desert. 

Spock stands before a scrunched piece of metal. It is half covered with dust and dirt, but what has caught his attention is some dark stains in the border. That and a distinct smell that brings a memory to the front of his mind: his mother, working in the back of their house with strange tools, and a red droplet gleaming in the pad of her finger. _It's nothing Spock, I'm just clumsy_. She had said. But Spock had been shocked by the sight of strange colored blood, and the notion of her mother's fragility. 

He finds more stains in the ground and it seems they lead in one direction. This alien being is hurt, and there is a chance that they are… human. A small chance, but an enticing possibility nonetheless.

Spock follows the trail, and his excitement turns to urgency when the footprints of a le-matya join the ones he is following. The smell may have picked the animal interest enough to bring it out of its den in the daylight. 

Spock starts to run, lirpa at the ready, hoping beyond logic to be there on time. He doesn’t know if the human -he is almost convinced that it is a human- has any weapon to defend themselves. No human, nor vulcan, could stand a chance against a le-matya while disarmed. 

And he is there just in time. The lone figure he has spotted in the distance has stopped, and the le-matya, camouflaged in the rocky ground, has crouched, waiting for the right moment to attack. 

Spock's strides are silent and the animal doesn’t notice his approach, its attention focused on its prey. So when the beast jumps, Spock is there, close enough to hit him with a swing of his lirpa.

The predator’s attention is on him, then. It is young and strong, so even when it is dazzled by the impact of the club, it still reacts with agility. Spock tries to avoid the poisonous claws desperately, and with every move that does not make contact it is clear to him that the le-matya has the upper hand. 

Then, the human does something unexpected: instead of getting himself to safety, he throws a rock at the le-matya. Spock takes advantage of the distraction and kills the threat immediately. He takes a brief moment to mourn the loss of a life, but logic dictates that it was necessary to ensure the safety of the human. A human that, Spock wonders, may have lost his mind somehow; or maybe it is in his nature to be so reckless. Perhaps the male of the species is just like that, but to think that the human could be dead, that his opportunity to know more about his mother’s origin could be lost… it unnerves him, and he is not in control of his emotions when he turns to address the man.

“That was ill-advised. You could have been severely injured.”

The human equals Spock’s height, and even when he could not have comprehended his words, his stance is defiant. But it is not his confidence in a strange place that made Spock stand still in front of him. It is the color of his eyes: blue, vibrant and rare, like the sky on the occasional instance when the wind is settled and the air is clean.

The man stumbles and, in an instinctive move, Spock surges forward to catch him before he can fall to the ground. He holds the man awkwardly, until he realizes that he has lost consciousness. Alarmed, he lays him on the ground and searches for injuries. If the le-matya has torn the skin with its claws, Spock has to act quickly to counteract the venom. 

He cannot find any significant wound, though, just a gash in his temple and his hand, and some big purple bruises here and there. He tilts his head. The human seems… in good condition. He, surprisingly, does not have any weapon with him. He cannot know the dangers of The Forge, but Spock wonders if the man was just that careless. Or clueless. Maybe he did not consider the possibility of being attacked.

What would it be, Spock wonders, to live a life without a constant threat on your life.


	2. Obstacles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a short one
> 
> (go check himbo-kirk's fanart on chapter one if you haven't seen it already ≧ω≦ )

Jim’s eyelids flutter open and he immediately groans. He has a hell of a headache. He sits up, and before he can fully take on his surroundings, a sudden presence at his side makes him jump.

He finds himself staring at a pair of bright brown eyes and his breath catches. With the adrenaline rush of the beast’s attack he hasn’t processed the implications recent events have thrown his way: This planet is not as empty as it seemed, and not as safe either. But most important, it holds sentient life and it is Jim’s luck to contact one of them right away. The first recorded contact in history. Well, in a manner of speaking, if he is stranded for good it will be ignored by historians.

But the fact is that he has met a native of this remote planet, one who has already saved his life -so Jim thinks it’s safe to assume that he isn’t hostile. Jim smiles at him, cautious just in case.

“Er, hey there. Uhm,” he shakes his head. Geez. Smooth, Kirk. He supposes he won't make a career as a diplomat. He gulps and tries to put into effect all his charm, “I guess I should thank you first. So… there. Uhm, my name’s James T. Kirk, but you can call me Jim.” He says, offering his hand for a handshake. He regrets it the moment he sees the stranger’s eyes widen. Jim closes his hand and pulls his arm close to his chest. Okay, maybe that was not an universal friendly gesture. “O-okay, I’m... Jim,” he repeats, touching his chest repeatedly, “and you are…” Jim gestures towards the other man, palms up, prompting him to speak.

The stranger tilts his head, a solitary line appears in his brow. That isn’t universally understood either, apparently.

“Man, this is going to be hard, isn’t it?” Jim says, mostly to himself. He rubs his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble on his fingertips.

“Spock.”

“Uh?” Jim perks up, surprised.

“Spock wimish.”

Jim's smile widens slowly with full force. “Spock," He repeats. "Nice to meet you.” The man preens, there is no other word for it. 

Jim licks his lips. They're parched. He could use some water, and some food. 

He guesses the man is as eager to communicate as Jim is, so he puts all his efforts in finding a way. 

After a while Spock appears as frustrated as he feels.

He’s always aced at charades, but it’s hard when the other part doesn’t share the same in-jokes nor a basic understanding of conventional gestures. 

“Wa-ter,” he says for what feels like the thousandth time, slowly, dragging the syllables. And he feels stupid really. If this didn’t work with little Joanna, for the amusement of his father, what makes Jim think that it’ll work with a grown up… alien? At least Bones is not present this time to make fun of him. 

“Nam-tor du has-bosh?” Spock says.

“What?”

“-er.”

They look at each other.  If Jim didn’t know better he’d bet Spock is mocking him.

After a beat, Spock raises his hand, then he pauses as if hesitating. It’s hard to say really, the man is the king of microexpressions. 

“Kal-tor nash-veh,” he says. And seriously, Jim hasn’t even the barest idea of what he’s supposed to do, but on instinct -or in idiocy, as Bones would say, the bastard-, he angles his face towards the hand, and allows Spock to touch his face.

For a fleeting moment the touch makes his skin prickle, and as Spock speaks, Jim can only focus on his lips. Then something funny happens, because Jim can still hear Spock’s voice, but his lips aren’t moving. 

Jim inhales and opens his mouth only to utter some nonsense. Huh, that question came along wrong. It sounded like the words that flowed effortlessly from Spock’s mouth, all pauses and vowels, and-

_ Fascinating _ .

Jim startles. As a question forms in his head another comes crashing against him-

_ Home _

It’s less than a word, more like a concept, but Jim knows it's a question. In front of his eyes is no longer Spock, it's the desert, a familiar place even when it shouldn't be. Just the day prior he was in the vast expanse of space, orbiting a rusty marble, intriguing and inviting. Menacing, now that he knows what to find in it. Beautiful, as he sees the sun rise in the horizon of the huge red planet, floating silently as Jim saw it the first time he looked outside the Galileo's reinforced glass. 

_ Vulcan _

A sensation that isn't entirely his own fills his senses. Jim recognizes it as a mix of nerves and awe. He smiles, it's exactly what he felt the very first time he saw the Earth from space. 

A gentle, curious nudge and there it is: a blue sphere, truly familiar but not less breathtaking for it. Home, he thinks, but it's not entirely true. His mind wanders and then he finds himself standing on the bridge of the Enterprise. And Jim knows he's not actually there, but it feels real, it feels like-

"Home," Jim mutters. 

Spock steps forward and stands beside him. 

"You… feel at home here. I do not understand."

"Spock! You… I can understand you!"

"I find I am pleasantly surprised," Spock deadpans.

"What's… why? I mean, what did you do?"

"This is… a mind meld. It is a vulcan technique that allows sharing thoughts. I did not expect anything more than images and impressions."

Jim mouth works around the foreign words and tries to grasp the concept of what a mind meld may entail. Before he can voice any of the myriad of questions he has, Spock turns to him, hands at his back and a posture that would put to shame any fleet officer standing at parade. 

"This is a ship."

"Uh, y-yes."

"And you call this home." 

Well, Jim looks around them. The Enterprise looks pristine, perfect and… empty. She looks welcoming, but it's really the people in there that makes her 'home'. And then, as if conjured, the crew appear: Sulu at the helm and Chekov at his side, Uhura at her station… even Bones is there near the turbolift entrance. Jim can't help his wide grin blossom. 

And then Gary enters the bridge and Jim feels his stomach drop, his pulse spike.

He notices Spock tensing by his side. His face is as serious as ever, but he can, somehow, sense his unease. 

"They are friendly, I promise," Jim says,  strained, his brain still trying to process what he is seeing . Underneath, he’s suddenly homesick, and wonders briefly if he ever will be able to get back to them.  If they suspect something happened. If they’ll blame him as he blames himself.

Spock cocks his head and stares at him, unblinking. "Maybe I have not been clear. These are not real, these are memories and creations of the mind. they cannot cause harm."

Jim chuckles, humorlessly. "Hey, I'm not  _ that  _ dense, I gathered that much,” It’s not real, he knows that, but still, “even when you are not good at explaining, buddy."

Then, for the first time, Spock's eyebrows raise and half disappear under his fringe, looking equal parts offended and amused. 

Maybe Spock is not as stone-faced as Jim has thought at first, maybe he just has to learn the little telltales. Jim smiles brightly. He finds the guy more and more interesting by the minute. 

Spock takes a step back and watches around them as the crew moves organically in the bridge.

“Is the desert your home?” Jim asks. 

“I believe the concept does not necessarily match. I… understand that you identify home with a sense of… community, or… belonging.”

“Family,” Jim clarifies.

Spock tilts his head and Jim smirks. That's definitely a telltale of Spock’s confusion. 

“Are you related to all of them by blood?” 

“Ah, no. It's more like… a found family of sorts.” 

“I do not understand.” 

“Don’t you have friends?”

“I do not.”

Jim frowns. “But, you have a family.”

Spock inhales softly, and Jim suspects that being human the equivalent would be a much more sharp intake. “I had.”

Jim is taken aback. He wonders if Spock’s words mean that he’s all alone on this huge planet, and a painful feeling of loneliness invades him. How would it be to be all by himself on this distant rock? So far from home, from family. A pang of guilt and sorrow that are not his own mingle with the heartache. 

“You are mistaken,” Spock says, even when Jim hasn’t voiced any of his thoughts. “I am not the only Vulcan on this planet, nor I am troubled by being alone.”

Despite the words, Jim picks up a bitterness so raw that almost makes him double over. For a fleeting moment the faces around them blur and Jim no longer recognises them, even when the feelings of familiarity and fondness are still there.

The Enterprise disappears and his vision blackens. Then Jim finds himself again sprawled in the shadow of a rock, Spock sitting in front of him with eyes locked to Jim’s and his hand still close to Jim’s face but not touching it anymore. 

And maybe it’s because Jim can still feel the connection, maybe it’s because of something else entirely, but he’s almost certain that it's  _ fear  _ that he can see in Spock’s face.

With slow movements, the vulcan rises to his feet, pointedly not looking at Jim and muttering something that sounds to him like an apology, even though the words are foreign once more.

Jim is surprised when something akin to a wineskin and a bundle of dry food lands on his lap. He mumbles his thanks to Spock’s retreating back. He can’t help but think that he has done something wrong. 

He drinks avidly, the fresh water a blessing. He bites the dry food and finds it surprisingly flavourful, spicy even, and drinks some more to rinse his shocked taste buds. The wineskin is considerably emptier, and Jim feels guilty at having depleted Spock’s supply. He wants to ask Spock if that’s okay, if they can find water nearby -if he’s more capable than Jim to survive in this hostile environment-, but the man is nowhere to be seen.

Jim stands. The sun is slowly making its descent, but the heat hasn’t diminished yet. He doesn’t know about Vulcan resilience but, if they’re half as affected by temperature as Humans are, Jim guesses that he may be somewhere in the shade. 

And he’s right. Not far from where they have been resting, Jim finds Spock. He’s seated with his eyes closed and his hands poised in front of him in a posture that reminds Jim of those ancient figurines of a meditating buddha. 

Not wanting to disturb him, Jim sits across Spock trying to make the minimum noise. And he observes the man carefully for the first time. It’s remarkable how similar they are, even when the eyebrows and the ears make him distinctively alien, the rest of his features aren’t distinguishable from a human’s. His straight nose, long dark eyelashes and chiseled jaw make him even… attractive. Together with the long black hair and his unnatural perfect posture all Jim can think about is in those graceful elves from Tolkien’s books. And man, Spock is definitely graceful in a fight.

A deeper inhale from Spock makes Jim snap to attention and he finds two dark eyes fixed on him, unnervingly expressive in the straight faced man.

“Hey there,” Jim says. In an involuntary reaction, he gulps. He feels like a deer caught in headlights, like a teenager caught staring at his crush. Which is absurd.

Spock raises his hand toward Jim’s face and Jim flinches, which makes Spock pause. Berating himself, Jim pushes Spock’s fingers against his temple. He only wants to communicate and here’s Jim, being his idiot self. “Sorry, man. Just… do your thing. Tell me what you want to say.” He says, dropping his hand on his lap. 

The contact is barely there, soft and warm but enough for Jim to get the gist of Spock's words. 

"We need to find shelter, a proper one. The menaces at night are far more dangerous than in the daylight."

Sensing the link weaken as Spock withdraws his hand, Jim presses it again against his skin. The gesture is more forceful, as the implication of leaving all the equipment -leave Gary behind- makes Jim nervous. 

"I need to get back to the shuttle. Listen, I just need some water and maybe some food, to get by while I try to contact the ship."

Spock's unfocused gaze turns to Jim's face as the words seem to sink in. "Not safe." He answers, simply. 

Jim blinks. "Well, nobody asked you to stay with me." And maybe it comes too harsh, Jim can admit that, but the faint frown on Spock's otherwise impassive face is unjustified. 

"Not safe," Spock repeats, voice low and somehow… menacing. He breaks the contact immediately after, and rises to his feet in a smooth motion, leaving Jim disoriented. And angry. Mostly angry. 

"Hey!" Jim bellows, standing up, throwing daggers at Spock’s retreating figure. "I'm a functional adult, I don't need a bodyguard nor a babysitter! I have a mission, and I don't intend to sit around waiting for the Enterprise to notice something is wrong and come and find us. To find me," he amends, mortified at how his voice wavers.

Spock turns. “Tehbar-bosh.”

Jim huffs, frustrated, and stares as Spock picks his meager possessions and starts climbing the rocky hill. Jim looks around and scrunches his nose. He’s pretty sure the shuttle is not in that direction. He puts his hands on his hips and bites his lower lip. He’s not delusional, he knows he may not have a chance without Spock, but hell if the man it’s anything but stubborn. And arrogant, if he thinks that Jim will follow him without an argument.

Jim looks around and notices his canteens and his packed snacks neatly piled on a rock. He picks everything and pours half the content of the wineskin in one of his canteens. Spock is waiting for him at the top of the small hill. Jim’s is already breathless when he stops and groans at the sight: as far as he can see there's a succession of valleys and hills with sharp jagged edges in Spock’s intended direction; behind them, an inviting plain where a metal jumble stands out of place in the mid distance. Jim supposes that he could reach it before sunset.

“Okay, I guess this is it,” he says clapping Spock’s shoulder with unnecessary force. He offers him back the wineskin, and rubs his neck. It’s a nervous gesture, one that he thought he had gotten rid of between his first year at the Academy and his graduation, as his self-confidence grew - or his ego and bravado got boosted. Bones words, not his. “It’s been… a privilege…” he continued, “and… ah, this is awkward. I think I should probably thank you, for saving my life.” Jim forces a smile. Spock has his tiny frown in place and the head slightly tilted to the side, the perfect picture of confusion for a Vulcan. Probably. Not that Jim has met other Vulcans, but it fits for this one. It’s almost endearing. “I would like to say we’ll be in contact, but that’ll be a lie and as you’re not understanding me right now, I guess pleasantries are pointless. It’s been nice to meet you, really,” Jim concludes, and with half a smile and a mock salute he goes back down the hill, in the direction of the wrecked shuttle.


	3. Meetings

Spock contains the air in his lungs to avoid exhaling all of it in a rushed burst. He identifies the frustration behind it and sets it aside to focus on the confusion. Because, what is the human  _ doing _ ? Spock has been clear in stating the necessity and the urgency on finding shelter.

“Jim,” Spock calls him out. When the man doesn’t turn he raises his voice. “Jim!” The blond head turns, and Spock is bewildered once more by the openness in the human’s face. There’s a question in those disturbing blue eyes and, as his full lips part, Spock feels the urge to state his argument before he goes into a new rant. One that Spock cannot comprehend without the contact of a meld. But, against logic and practicality, after the unexpected depth in their last connection, Spock feels reluctant to do it again. Especially so soon. “We need to go,” he says simply and gestures in his intended direction.

Then Jim protests, and points to the shuttle. Spock looks into the distance and makes some calculations. The shuttle it’s too far, it’s illogical to even consider.

He looks back at him, maintaining eye contact as if he could convey the meaning of his words, even when he knows that his telepathy doesn’t work like this. “Not possible, there is not enough daytime for us to go there and…”

Jim clicks his tongue, dissatisfaction evident in his face, and steps towards him. His sudden move makes Spock step back, but Jim doesn’t hesitate and grabs his wrist to guide Spock’s hand against his temple. It makes the hairs on his arm stand on end. 

Instinctively, he resists, effortlessly holding his arm in place -human strength is lacking against the one of a vulcan body, apparently-, but the contact at his wrist is enough to feel the tendrils of Jim’s emotions licking the tenuous edges of his walls. Frustration comes first, and it is followed by anger the moment Spock locks his muscles and doesn’t allow him to pull his hand closer; but that flickers and fades quickly into worry and anguish, so rushed that it makes Spock’s head spin.

“... please,” Jim says after a long tirade that Spock doesn’t understand. But that word he does. He remembers it. Spock blinks, and tries to grasp the elusive memory. It is useless. 

The word is a plea, and it matches the appeal in the blue eyes. He moves his hand and allows the faintest contact, fearful of the sensory assault of uncontrolled feelings. What he doesn’t expect is the focussed determination emanating from Jim. Spock can only marvel at the dynamism of the human’s mind.

“I need to go there,” Jim says, “I need to contact my ship.”

“It is not safe,” Spock says, once again.

“So you said,” Jim admits. For a brief moment he keeps silent with his gaze unfocused. Spock can feel an undercurrent of thoughts, too quick to catch. Then he raises his head and focuses on Spock’s eyes with an air of determination. “Alright. I need to take some things and, uhm… and I need to-I need…” Jim pauses, pursing his lips. A profound grief rushes over their connection and Spock can’t help but frown. Jim sniffs and gulps before he starts talking again. “I need to say my goodbyes. Then we can go wherever you need us to.” Spock is going to protest when Jim talks again. “I’m not asking you to come with me.”

Jim is not lying, Spock is sure of it, but he can feel through the connection that there is an invitation under those words, hopeful and welcoming. Spock blinks. He ignores the feeling rising in his throat and considers the situation through the lense of logic. 

This is not Jim’s homeplanet, he’s not equipped to survive on his own, it’s only logical to try and contact his own kind and go back to them. The fact that the probability of Jim’s survival increases with Spock’s presence overrules any other consideration. He lowers his hand and nods, walking back the path down the hill and leading the way towards the place the shuttle crashed, trusting Jim to follow.

The way there is hard for Jim. He must be exhausted by all the occurrences of the day, so eventually Spock slows the pace. When he offers a brief stop, Jim refuses and continues walking stubbornly, but it becomes clear that they won't be able to go back to the foothills to find a cave deep enough to use as cover for the night. They will have to camp near the shuttle. If nothing else, it would protect them from the worst hours of the cold night.

Finally, two hours before the sun goes down, they reach their destination. Predictably, Jim drops to the ground, exhausted. With his eyes closed and his back propped on the shuttle’s hull, the human looks like he may pass out.

“Give me a minute,” Jim says.

“I will secure the perimeter,” Spock utters. He’s almost sure Jim is asleep or unconscious before he walks away. It’s only when he is at a good distance, that something in his conscious clicks. Or… dissolves, more accurately. He frowns, puzzled, but puts the thought aside until he has time to meditate and focuses on setting the first trap.

\---

It’s too early, almost the end of gamma shift, when Pike enters the bridge and finds part of the alfa shift already there.

“Captin on ze bridge.”

“Morning, everyone. What do we have?” He says as he sits in his chair and turns to the communication station.

“Good morning Captain, we have a channel open with the Copernicus.” Lieutenant Uhura delivers with her accustomed efficiency. “They requested an early meeting with you sir.”

“I’ve gathered that much,” he grumbles, trying not to miss his early dose of caffeine. “Patch them through.”

Instantly, the two faces of the Copernicus’ temporary crew appear on the screen. Before Pike could exchange any pleasantries or demand any status report, they start to talk over each other in an uncharacteristic show of unprofessionality.

“Captain, you won’t believe…”

“It’s an impossibility, yet there’s evidence…”

“Lieutenant, officer.” 

Lieutenant Marcus is the first to compose herself and straightens her back to say in a very solemn voice, her eyes huge and eager, “You need to see this, sir.”

\---

Nights in The Forge are cold. Tonight would be bearable with the proper clothing that, regretfully, Jim has not. The heated metal of the shuttle provides some isolation from the external drop in temperature, but soon the breaches in the hull let escape all the warmth despite Jim's efforts to fill the gaps with remnants of the fabric that covered the folding beds.

Spock has been trying to meditate for the past hour, but Jim’s trashing and fumbling is... distracting. 

“Computer,” Jim says for the fifth time, triggering a response from the monotone voice the shuttle’s operative system produces. The resultant back and forth communication is lost for Spock, but not the frustration emanating from Jim at the end of it. Whatever Jim wanted from the computer is not what he got.

Jim covers his face with his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s the physical expression of exhaustion and defeat. 

Spock barely touches his shoulder when Jim raises his head. His eyes are bloodshot and he has dark circles under his eyes. Against his better judgement, Spock grazes his temple, instantly feeling Jim’s tiredness and a raging headache that he tries to ease right away.

Jim groans, a deep sound that would be disconcerting if Spock wasn’t sensing his relief. “If I knew you could do that I would have asked you to do it sooner,” he says, his words intelligible again with the shallow contact.

“Jim, you need to rest.”

“Ha, tell me about it. I think I could go to sleep now without the raging pain in my head. But it’s cold.”

Spock looks at Jim, puzzled by the unspoken thoughts shared through the connection. His words are one thing, but the motivation behind them is not his own comfort, but Spock’s. 

Surprised and amused in equal parts, his lips curl up against his will. “Jim, I was born here, I’m more than acclimated to the temperatures of my home planet. You do not need to concern yourself about me.”

“I’m just…”

A sharp spike of guilt and grief assault Spock’s consciousness. He is shaken by the intensity of the pain that is not his own, and by the answering need to diminish it. It is raw, and recent, and in a way so similar to the one that runs deep in his mind, that Spock cannot avoid the onslaught of his reflecting sorrow.

He closes his eyes. Inhales. Exhales. Years of practice allows him to find calm in an instant and coaxes the same calm on Jim. 

Jim relaxes a fraction before he tenses. “Don’t,” he mutters. 

“Jim, I…”

“Just... don’t.”

Slowly, Spock lowers his hand and retreats. He is not offended by Jim’s refusal. It is his prerogative to accept or refuse help. But, under all the grief, there is a misplaced self-reproach that confuses Spock, and also a sense of responsibility that is illogical.

Spock wants to let this be known. He wants to reassure Jim that he is in no way bothered by his presence or his actions, and he is not responsible for his well being. Out of the two of them, Spock is stronger and likely the most prepared to survive in an environment that is hostile to an unadapted human body. In fact, Spock has done that on his own for several seasons.

As he watches Jim lean on the floor and curl up in a scrap of the auxiliary parachute with his back to him, Spock deduces that his argument will not be well received; so he decides to let the matter rest. For the moment.

He ignores the scrap that Jim has left for him and accommodates himself for a light meditation before getting some sleep.

\---

Spock had forgotten how much longer humans need to sleep than Vulcans.

He wakes up 1.3 hours before sunrise and finds Jim in the same position he was when Spock finally deemed necessary for him to rest. He stands swiftly and follows his morning routine with precision, or at least as much as the circumstances allows him.

While doing so, a thought becomes more and more insistent as time passes, one that urges him to move, to head to a safer place. But he suppresses it, reasoning that Jim must be exhausted after all the predicaments of the day prior, and he needs the rest if Spock wants them to move at a good pace.

Not able to stay idle, he starts to tinker and prod with the shuttle’s instruments -out of scientific curiosity more than boredom-, while waiting for Jim to wake up. He actually wanted to check and retrieve the traps around the shuttle and urge Jim to get all the things he needs to take before going to a safer place, but soon he is immersed in the study of the foreign technology and he loses track of time. Spock gets bolder with every tiny discovery, that leads to a new question, that leads to additional examination. 

He raises his eyebrows when he takes apart one panel to find a tangle of colored wires. It’s a messy web, but as his eyes follow the different treads, he supposes that there’s a logic behind it. Humans have reached Vulcan twice, after all. It’s not a stretch to suppose that they are capable of putting aside their irrationality and recklessness and develop a technology that safely allows them to travel through space.

Or safely enough, Spock correctes himself. The crash of the shuttle demonstrates that the technology is fallible.

He leans back, considering his next step, and peers over his shoulder to look at Jim. By the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders, he is still sound asleep, so Spock decides to further his investigations. He puts the panel aside and untangles the leather strip from his wrist. With a practiced move he pulls his hair back and ties it up with it, so it won’t come in the way when he works in the wires deep back in the body of the shuttle. 

After he disassembles a second panel he has enough space to delve in with his two hands in the mass of wires.

It’s the fourth wire that he follows from one end to the other, the one that triggers a response from the computer. The skewed tip seemed out of place, so Spock pushes it further into the socket and the sudden monotone voice startles him. After a moment nothing else happens, so Spock leans back in to study what appears to be the motherboard.

The same message sounds again. Spock hands stills. “Computer,” he says, tentatively, as he understood looking at Jim earlier that the system could receive voiced commands. But he falters, not knowing how to follow that statement. The monotone voice delivers another phrase. “I-I do not understand.”

After a whirring and a beep, a screen on his right flickers and lits up. A word written in unfamiliar shapes flickers and changes while the computer urges him to answer an unintelligible question -a “please” followed by a jumble of words that he cannot decipher.

“I do not-” Spock hears Jim stir behind him then , and he looks over his shoulder as a tangled blond mop of hair emerges from the makeshift bed. “Apologies, Jim, I did not want to disturb your rest.”

Blue eyes stare at him, barely focused and squinted in confusion. When the computer voices a message again, Jim bursts out laughing with alarming force. Before Spocks can control the frown that tugs his eyebrows down, Jim crawls towards him, clumsily disentangling his drowsy limbs from the cocoon of the ragged parachute. He invades his personal space, still giggling, face alight with mirth.

Spock recoils at the sudden proximity and the scent that invade his nostrils, dense and heady. On a secondary level, Spock is aware that attributing the cause of a different awareness to a state of sleepiness and apparent vulnerability may be a fallacy, derived from insufficient data; that it may be a misjudgment on his part, a false impression. On the forefront of his mind, though, is the certainty that he may have underestimated Jim's effect on him. 

He ponders all of this while distracted by Jim’s closeness. He doesn’t notice Jim’s intention until his fingers brush the back of Spock’s hand, sending sparks across his nerves all the way to his spine. He concentrates on controlling the blood rising to his cheeks, so when Jim presses Spock's hand to his temple he misses the first words and has to shift his focus to strengthen the connection. The rush of feeling is so strong that he can’t help but blink in confusion.

“Spock?”

“Jim.”

“Are you ok?”

“I am. Apologies, you were saying?”

Jim’s smile comes back in full force. “I said that you have set off the computer’s curiosity and it’s losing its marbles trying to identify which language you are speaking to it.”

“Can it understand me?” Spock asks, his attention divided between Jim’s words and the freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose.

“Nah, Uhura is awesome, and her database is near perfect, but I don’t think she would have predicted the language of a yet unknown species.”

“Of course.”

“But,” Jim says. He pauses, his eyes shifting as if lost in thought. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

\--- 

"Come again?" Captain Pike stares at the man in front of him. He can hear the murmurs in the room and the soft beeping of a medical tricorder held close by the doctor on duty, but his eyes are fixed on the beaming face directed at him.

"Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, sir. It's good to see ye lot. Blimey, I was afraid I was going to die in that frozen rock, even when the old lassie was holding up admirably."

"Sorry, who?"

"My ship, a true beauty. But I admit this one is a fine specimen herself." The man beams, assessing the pristine walls of the Enterprise.

"Mister Scott, are-"

"Can I visit the engineering decks, sir?"

"Mister S-"

"Have you reached warp speed already?” He asks, looking around for someone to engage with him. “There was this interesting theory when we left that -"

"Mr Scott," Pike interrupts him with a stern tone that silences the whole room. "Are there any other survivors?"

The man's face falls and stills. His eyes shift over Pike’s face, as if trying to parse if there’s a trick on the question. He averts his eyes and gulps before speaking. "There were escape pods, and a landing party that we lost contact with before we needed to evacuate… But no, sir, not that I'm aware of."

Pike glances to the side, catching Dr McCoy's eyes.

"His DNA matches with the one in the database. The Lieutenant Commander here is slightly malnourished, but otherwise healthy," he says with raised eyebrows before muttering, "A fucking miracle if you ask me."

He nods and looks back to Mr Scott, ignoring the improper retort. He can only agree. No one would have expected to find survivors from the USS Antares twenty-three years later.

\---

It is exactly three hours before noon when Spock finishes retrieving all the traps and comes back to the shuttle. He has carried his lirpa with him, as precaution in case another le-matya roams in the vicinity in the daylight. The traps were empty, though, and he only came across traces of little animals in the vicinity that he followed to find a small surge of water to replenish their reserves.

He expects to find Jim ready, and there’s indeed a neatly packed rucksack and an expertly tied bundle of metal bars beside him. He doesn’t expect to find him working carefully over a mishaped piece of metal, bending it and wielding pieces together with a strange tool. And with darkened round goggles on.

“Jim, you are not ready to depart.”

The man mutters something without looking up and Spock averts his eyes to avoid the bright sparks that come off the tip of the tool. He only looks back when a shout of triumph comes from Jim’s mouth. In his hand he holds up some forked object. Its use and value eludes Spock, but Jim seems oddly proud of.

He wants to urge him to get his things when Jim lifts his goggles. His blue eyes are alight with excitement and pierce through Spock’s resolve. He watches as Jim speaks with enthusiasm, explaining something that is lost to him while threading an elastic band through two of the ends of the extrange object. Then Jim stands and rushes to put some pebbles over a larger rock in the distance. He comes back with a huge grin and graces his arm.

“Watch,” he says. He holds the object with one hand, raising it at eye level, and nests a pebble on the elastic band before tensing it. Jim holds his breath and releases it, the smaller pebble propelled forward with unexpected force. It hits the other ones over the distant rock with surprising accuracy. “A slingshot,” Jim says.

“A weapon,” Spock utters as he finally understands. There’s a tinge of surprise in his voice, but if Jim notices he doesn’t seem offended. 

Jim’s smile seems firmly settled on his face and Spock thinks that it makes him look younger than he probably is. That, or Jim inadvertently was carrying a burden on his shoulders that the accomplishment has lifted somehow. 

Spock observes him with his head slightly tilted to the side, as Jim starts a barrage of words while he picks up more potential projectiles, turning them in his hands before discarding them or deeming them adequate to put in his pocket. Spock thinks about how Vulcans' feelings run deep, how they can override one’s control if they are not constantly checked and acknowledged, and wonder at how Jim seems to be driven by them, how he embraces them fully and yet he accomplishes admirable things.

Suddenly, something in the air shifts and Spock tenses. The distinct sound of careful steps in the dry soil reaches his ears right after. 

Spock reaches out to grab Jim’s forearm and he immediately stops his ramble. He frowns in confusion, but soon understands that something is amiss. Spock is surprised with how, as much as the chatty and loud creature he is, Jim can gather so much from silent cues. He arms himself with his rudimentary weapon and looks intently at Spock, probably looking for any hint as how and when to act.

“Show yourselves,” Spock demands, raising his voice. Slowly, three figures appear from behind their hiding place beyond the furthest end of the shuttle. Their approach had been careful, Spock can concede that, taking advantage of a blind spot. But he berates himself nonetheless; he has allowed his attention to focus solely on Jim, ignoring the risks, ignoring all the reasons to look for a safer place to stay.

“S'chn T'gai  _ Spock, _ ” the Vulcan closer to them says, glancing briefly to Jim. The rise on his eyebrow is subtle but noticeable. Deliberately, Spock shifts the grip on his lirpa and moves his stance to put himself between him and Jim. "I did not expect to find you… alive."

The evident disbelief grates on Spock nerves, but he smashes the physical reaction. He’s not going to give his cousin the satisfaction.

“I did not expect them to set  _ you  _ on an errand, Sulvuk.” His cousin turns his nose up in the air. The gesture is subtle, but enough to be noticeable, and Spock doesn’t suppress himself this time. He smirks. 

Sulvuk visibly bristles. “Step aside.”

He ignores the command and overlooks the disdain that seeps into the words. He can imagine the orders that lead them here, or at least the gist of them. They don’t bode well for Jim. Nor for him.

“I said: step aside.” The tone is the same, monotonous and dismissive, but the cadence is aiming to insult, to imply that Spock needs to be treated like an infant, speaking slowly to him.

“You have seen what there is to be seen,” Spock says. “You may go back and report your findings to the Council.”

Saafek, on the right, steps forward and Spock holds his lirpa tighter. He can take Saafek down in a blow. Sulvuk is sturdier than him, but if Spock feints and hits T’kir first, knocking him out, it will be only him left. Spock has never defeated Sulvuk in single combat, but if it’s only the two of them, maybe Spock can give Jim enough time to run and hide.


End file.
